"I cannot save you. You're too hurt."
What did it mean to be beyond salvation? Were some more deserving of salvation than others? Then, did that mean that his mother (and by extension, they and their siblings) were undeserving? Falsekit never heard of such a concept, an alien and remarkable turnstile for a curious mind imbibed in a growing world. Already did the seeds of philosophy burrow deeply into soft soils, though he hadn't the will nor the word to ascribe to it. The gallstone of a thought rolled vexingly in Falsekit's mind, like the profanation of the goodness of the soul, a poisoning of the naivete they still clung to. The former rogue wished for answers, but who would they turn to? Everyone around him was a stranger, and they didn't entirely wish to invite them into their life. It was too many variables, too many considerations. Eventually, the thoughts became a maddening drone within the kitten's body, like an echo tainting the sanctity of silence. Falsekit knew, eventually, that they must turn to the woman who martyred their mother. The cold-shouldered doctor, the arbiter of salvation.
Falsekit rested in one of the plush nests of the medicine cat den, letting one white-tipped paw hang from the side. One of their pads still pulsed in dim heat from where a small splinter once lodged itself. With Serpentberry's help, though, it had been quickly dislodged. Now, all the child had to do was wait, even if the tedium would eventually drown them in its swathes. The calico's back was turned, doing whatever she did with the various leaves and roots and whatnot. She was already here... so she might as well utter what seemed to burn at the ends of her psyche. He wasn't quite sure if he liked her, but she would be as good of a substitution for his actual mother as he could get in Thunderclan. "... Serpentberry?" He called for the medicine cat, stormcloud-blue eyes blinking innocently as her, as if the light within their eyes had not been blemished by tear nor wear. "What does it mean when you can't save someone? I thought that was what you were supposed to do." The statement came innocuously from lamblike lips, as though there lie no slight that slithered between the words, and no malice to hide behind bold-faced intent. They were a little aware that it might rouse some other emotion from the depths of the medicine cat's spirit, though, and the uncertainty made it all the more fun for them.
What did it mean to be beyond salvation? Were some more deserving of salvation than others? Then, did that mean that his mother (and by extension, they and their siblings) were undeserving? Falsekit never heard of such a concept, an alien and remarkable turnstile for a curious mind imbibed in a growing world. Already did the seeds of philosophy burrow deeply into soft soils, though he hadn't the will nor the word to ascribe to it. The gallstone of a thought rolled vexingly in Falsekit's mind, like the profanation of the goodness of the soul, a poisoning of the naivete they still clung to. The former rogue wished for answers, but who would they turn to? Everyone around him was a stranger, and they didn't entirely wish to invite them into their life. It was too many variables, too many considerations. Eventually, the thoughts became a maddening drone within the kitten's body, like an echo tainting the sanctity of silence. Falsekit knew, eventually, that they must turn to the woman who martyred their mother. The cold-shouldered doctor, the arbiter of salvation.
Falsekit rested in one of the plush nests of the medicine cat den, letting one white-tipped paw hang from the side. One of their pads still pulsed in dim heat from where a small splinter once lodged itself. With Serpentberry's help, though, it had been quickly dislodged. Now, all the child had to do was wait, even if the tedium would eventually drown them in its swathes. The calico's back was turned, doing whatever she did with the various leaves and roots and whatnot. She was already here... so she might as well utter what seemed to burn at the ends of her psyche. He wasn't quite sure if he liked her, but she would be as good of a substitution for his actual mother as he could get in Thunderclan. "... Serpentberry?" He called for the medicine cat, stormcloud-blue eyes blinking innocently as her, as if the light within their eyes had not been blemished by tear nor wear. "What does it mean when you can't save someone? I thought that was what you were supposed to do." The statement came innocuously from lamblike lips, as though there lie no slight that slithered between the words, and no malice to hide behind bold-faced intent. They were a little aware that it might rouse some other emotion from the depths of the medicine cat's spirit, though, and the uncertainty made it all the more fun for them.
- OOC. @serpentberry <3
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NOTE: This is a very loose reference until I can draw a more accurate reference. <3 -
